


This Hollow Veil

by lovingangelindisguise



Category: Midsommar (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Blood and Gore, Breeding, Dark, Doggy Style, Exhibitionism, F/M, Full Moon, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Midsommar (2019), Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Midsommar AU, Neck Kissing, Occult, Psychological Horror, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Suicidal Thoughts, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Virginity, Virginity Kink, Voyeurism, tbh i've watched this move like ten times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovingangelindisguise/pseuds/lovingangelindisguise
Summary: “Well, this will be my chance to find out…” You mutter, taking the first step into the forest.It isn’t as dark within as it looks from the outside, though it is colder. The moonlight finds its way through the branches and leaves, giving you enough light to step over thick roots and rocks that lay in your path. You tug the sleeves of your sweater down over your hands, looking around nervously. The deeper you walk, the more you have a feeling like someone, or something, is watching you.
Relationships: Pelle (Midsommar)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 41





	This Hollow Veil

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! I am obsessed with Midsommar and Pelle so, this had to be done. This fic was inspired by the songs Haunted Houses and Medusa by Emma Ruth Rundle ❤️ I hope you all enjoy this story! I really enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Feel free to send requests and as always, please like and comment if you enjoy ❤️

“I swear, you guys are the absolute worst.” You sigh and swing your legs over the side of the bed.

“You’re the one who chose dare! It’s not our fault.” Mark crosses his arms defiantly, and the other guys nod in agreement.

“Whatever,” You pull a knit black sweater overhead and then bend down to retrieve your boots, “If I die out there it is _your_ fault.”

The guys just laugh amongst themselves as you walk out of the sleeping quarters, and into the cold night air of Hälsingland.

The sky is inky black overhead, with clusters of stars twinkling brightly, and a perfectly full moon that illuminates the ground beneath you. Your breath comes out in white puffs as you walk, arms wrapped around yourself for warmth. The few small buildings there have flickering candles in the windows and it makes you wonder who else could be up. If they ever slept.

You swallow thickly, stopping dead in your tracks now that the forest looms before you. The trees are tall, pale, and twisted, and groan with the light Autumn breeze. You wonder if all the stories are true—if it is as dangerous as you’ve been warned. Only darkness stares back at you. An impregnable void.

“Well, this will be my chance to find out…” You mutter, taking the first step into the forest.

It isn’t as dark within as it looks from the outside, though it is colder. The moonlight finds its way through the branches and leaves, giving you enough light to step over thick roots and rocks that lay in your path. You tug the sleeves of your sweater down over your hands, looking around nervously. The deeper you walk, the more you have a feeling like someone, or _something,_ is watching you.

The sound of a branch snapping somewhere behind you makes you whirl around, eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. Your heart is pounding and feels like it’s lodged itself in your throat, and after moments of sheer panic you take a shuddering breath to try and calm down. It’s nothing, probably just an animal.

Reluctantly, you turn your back and begin trudging forward again, though now your whole body is tense with anticipation— like a coiled snake ready to dart.

As you walk, you mentally curse yourself for even agreeing to this fucking adventure in the first place. Were you really that immature that you couldn’t turn down a dare? The sudden flapping of wings overhead makes you shriek in surprise and almost fall backwards, arms flying up to shield your head. But after a few seconds pass, and you peer between your fingers; you’re met with only empty branches and dead leaves.

“Fucking… night birds…” You mutter, kicking a stone a few feet away before stomping ahead. You were not going to let this forest get the best of you. Plus, it would make good side notes on your senior thesis if you could say that you almost got killed in the woods. No one would have to know if it was by a bird.

After a while of walking, you finally come into a clearing, where the Ättestupa stands tall over the forest and is startlingly vivid against the dark night sky. Staring up at it, you could almost see them again. The old woman walking slowly to the edge, gazing down upon all of you before jumping willingly to her death. The peaceful expression she wore had surprised you more than the impact when her body hit the rocks, splitting into a gory pile of flesh that painted the stones red. Your friends screamed and cried around you in utter disbelief. But you were mesmerized. It was as if the whole world had slowed to a pin point of a moment, everything quiet and patient, as if the life were bowing to their end.

When the old man missed his mark with a gargling cry, your hands shook, itching to move forward—to help him. You held yourself back though, lips parted and a warmth coursing through your body that made your head feel airy and detached. For a moment, your eyes flickered away from the ghastly scene, searching, and when they found him you were surprised to find him already watching you. He stood off to the side away from everyone, and though he faced the cliffside, his eyes were on you.

Now, here you are again. In the middle of the night making some kind of pilgrimage, maybe for your own self-sacrifice.

Your body has finally adjusted to the cold, bare legs numb beneath your knee length skirt, and the sound of your boots crunching the dirt and twigs beneath them is the only thing that breaks the silence. That was one thing that took you awhile to get used to once you’d arrived in Hälsingland: the silence. It’s so quiet there, which is something you are entirely not used to— having been living in the city for the last three years. There’s nothing to drown out your thoughts at night unless Josh is kind enough to share his sleeping pills.

The cliff is steeper than it looks, and you’re huffing out of breath once you’re a little more than halfway up. It’s worth it, though. The moon looks closer somehow from this high up, and looking over the side as you walk, you can see the valley below like something out of a novel.

As you finally near the peak, the top of the rune engraved standing rock slowly comes into view. There’s handprints of dried blood smeared down the front of it, and the sight makes the tremor return in your hands. You recognize the runes teiwaz, and berkana, but the others are too darkened by blood to read just by cold moonlight.

At last, you made it. All your friends can go fuck themselves. You walk to the edge of the cliff, the sheer drop taking your breath away. It makes your mouth go dry, and the image of them jumping flashes in your mind again. The air is so still up this high, as if it’s exempt from the whims of nature. Nothing moves, except for you swaying on the edge.

“I think you’re here a little early, at least by your age.”

The sudden sound makes your heart jump to your throat, forcing out a high-pitched scream, as you whirl around. You knew it as soon as you lost your balance, could feel your foot slide against the loose gravel and that falling feeling that makes your stomach jolt like it’s left your body entirely.

But in a flash, he’s got you. His arms are around your waist, yanking you back and against his firm chest where he holds you tight, stepping back from the edge and lifting you with him as if you weigh nothing.

“Sorry about that.” He murmurs, looking down at you, and you lift your head to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think you are,” you’re staring hard at him, but you’re not accusing, just stating. He smiles faintly. “Did you want to watch me fall?”

One of his hands moves from your low back up between your shoulder blades, beneath your hair, and then wraps long fingers around the back of your neck. His skin is warm against yours, and your eyes flutter at the touch.

“Why did you come here?” He avoids your question, and his other hand slips a little lower, till his fingers are at the hem of your sweater.

“It… It was a dare.” You bite your lip, knowing it’s a stupid answer but the truth unfortunately. He laughs. Laughs in the way that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes him look boyish, and it makes your hands crave to move from where they’re cradled limply against his chest.

“I see. Was that it? To just stand on the edge of the cliff?” He’s smiling down at you, but you can see something darker in the depths of his eyes. You’ve never been this close before. The realization makes your breath hitch. He smells so good, like honey and cinnamon.

“I was supposed to…. to flash the Gods, I guess. At least that’s how Christian put it…” The admittance makes your cheeks heat up, and he gives your neck a gentle squeeze, “It’s cold though…” You add, trying to save yourself from at least some of the embarrassment.

Pelle stares at you in silence for a moment, and you know your agitation must be palpable. You can feel his heart beat against your palms. Slow and steady. All at once his hands fall away and he steps back, though his eyes never leave yours.

“Well, I suppose you must finish the dare then. Isn’t that how the game goes?” Her smirks at your wide eyed expression. You don’t even know how to respond. Is this really happening? You look to either side of you for a second, expecting anyone to jump out and scream ‘ _surprise!_ ’. But no one does. You’re all alone.

With a deep breath, you take a step back. His eyes flicker to the edge of the cliff behind you and then back up, as if telling you not to move any further. You’ve never done anything like this before, and it’s making your skin too hot and you can feel the moisture dripping between your thighs. He knows it too, because he’s absolutely devouring you with his eyes, and that look is what spurs you on to grab the hem of your sweater and lift it—pulling it overhead in one fluid motion and then letting it slide off your arms and drop to the ground.

The cold air is abrupt, and you gasp. The sharp feeling of it makes your nipples tighten. You see his eyes rake over your naked chest, drinking in the site of your smooth skin and pert breasts. Having the edge right at your heels and the moonlight overhead makes you feel ethereal, translucent, and slowly your fingers trail up over the curve of your ribcage and higher till you’re cupping your breast—then rolling the hard little nub between your thumb and forefinger.

Your head falls back, and a soft moan leaves your parted, pink lips. The ends of your hair brush against your lower back as your head lolls to the side. You feel powerful, and in that feeling you look up at him again. It’s electrifying. The hand on your breast moves down to join your other with thumbs tucked in the waistband of your skirt, and slowly you begin pushing it down. Your eyes never leave his as you bend forward, pushing it the rest of the way down past your upper thighs until it finally falls free and pools around your shoes.

You straighten up, stepping out of the pile of fabric. As you do, Pelle finally moves forward, clearing the space between you in two long strides. His large hands cup your face, and he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss that makes your knees weak. Your hands find their way beneath his thick sweater, fingers roaming the smooth, muscular plane of his stomach and then chest till he’s forced to break away from the kiss so that you can pull it over his head—having to lean up on your tip toes since he’s so much taller than you.

His skin is hot to the touch just like yours, and he pulls you into another kiss, playfully nipping at your lower lip. He walks you backward without breaking the kiss, and you stumble slightly before your back hits cold stone. You can feel the carvings in it against your spine and shoulder blades. Smooth edges imbued with history.

“I need you.” His voice is rough and breathless against your lips and you nod frantically, moaning when his firm thigh presses between your legs.

His hands on your waist spin you around so that you’re facing the rune rock and instinctually you bend forward, arching your back till your ass is stuck in the air— presenting yourself to him. You can hear his sharp intake of breath behind you, and shudder when his hands rub along your sides and down your hips, and over the curves of your ass.

The runes are in right in front of you now, you can even see the grains of stone deep in the engraving, and for support you place your palms against the bloodied handprints. Your own self-sacrifice. You close your eyes, moaning softly when the length of his cock rubs against your cunt, the head nudging at your sensitive clit. He rocks against you, lubing himself up with your arousal, before finally pressing the head against your entrance.

“Pelle, please…” You whimper, desperate just to be filled up by him. For him to ravage you.

It’s pure heaven when he finally thrusts in, the ebb of pain that comes with it only adding to your pleasure. You’re tight, and he groans behind you, one hand holding your hip and the other gripping a handful of your ass as he slides out again. It almost takes your breath away this time when he thrusts in and doesn’t stop, setting a steady pace as he pounds into you.

You can hear how wet you are, your cunt spasming around him with every deep thrust that hits just right to cause you to see stars. Your nails scratch against the rough stone, and you’re moaning and begging incoherently now— pleading with him. You beg him to hurt you. To protect you. To let you fall.

It’s like your knees are going to give out at any moment from how hard he’s fucking you. The vicious slapping of skin against skin echoing off the silence that surrounds you. His hand on your hip snakes between your legs and finds your clit, pinching and rubbing at the sensitive bundle of nerves till you’re throwing your head back with a high-pitched scream. His name on your lips.

The force of it is unlike any time before. Each wave of pleasure making your whole body shake as your cunt clenches around him over and over, urging him to release. Ecstasy. Your body goes limp, but he holds you up, finishing with a ragged groan that makes you smile. He holds you up against his chest, and you’re too delirious to even open your eyes— can feel the blood coating your inner thighs.

“You’re mine.” He lips are on your neck and he reaches down between your legs, using two fingers to push his cum back inside you. You whimper in response, fingers finding his hair and tangling in it.

It’s cold again. You’re flesh and bone. Let the blood rain down and wash away your shame and guilt. Bow to the monument of suffering. 


End file.
